


The rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air

by Leafling



Series: Discontinued [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (if you squint), 1960s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby!Tony, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, Obligatory Late Holiday Fic, Partying, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafling/pseuds/Leafling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, as a way to try and get myself writing this series again, I'm just going to write drabbles until I'm sick of it. This particular fic I wrote on the actual Fourth of July, but never got the opportunity to upload because procrastination and limited time on the computer. Oh, well! </p><p>I'm taking requests, by the by, because I can only come up with so many scenarios!</p><p>Also, the title comes from the Star Spangled Banner.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air

**Author's Note:**

> So, as a way to try and get myself writing this series again, I'm just going to write drabbles until I'm sick of it. This particular fic I wrote on the actual Fourth of July, but never got the opportunity to upload because procrastination and limited time on the computer. Oh, well! 
> 
> I'm taking requests, by the by, because I can only come up with so many scenarios!
> 
> Also, the title comes from the Star Spangled Banner.

It's really hot out that afternoon, the dog days of summer continuing their encroachment into suburbia and leaving nothing but arid heat in its wake. The grass is freshly mowed, the entire lawn perfectly manicured. The landscapers look wrung out as they load clippings into the back of their vehicles. Steve stares at the garden in admiration, sipping his coffee and leaning against the frame of the porch door, the vibrant green hue of the grass drawing his eyes. They— _Maria,_  really, Howard never has any part in these gatherings—were hosting a barbecue for the Fourth. There were red, white, and blue banners strung up all across the backyard, matching coverings strewn across the patio furniture, and patriotic props all over the place.

Maria was getting obsessive with these parties; she threw one for every occasion, real or  _otherwise_ . Steve supposed that that was what women her age and in her social standing did. Perhaps it was because she was lonely and liked to be surrounded by people. He'd overheard one of the housekeepers call her  _Gatsby_. It was fitting. He turned away from the lawn and the gaudy decorations and toward the affair unfolding behind him in the kitchen. 

Peggy was standing over one of the chefs, guiding him through the process of preparing one of her favorite casseroles—she had wanted to cook herself, but Maria had insisted that they put "the help" through their paces. Peggy pointedly ignored how the world-renowned sous chef _scowled_ at her unorthodox methods for filling the crust with cheese, intent on seeing her culinary creation through to the end.

Steve had once joked about Peggy being able to cook.  Peggy had roll her eyes then, shrugging off his comments about the domesticity of cooking.  _"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, "it's a survival skill."_

Maria sat at the table, her hair rolled up and face painted green with something akin to moss that some dermatologist recommended would keep the wrinkles off her face. Tony, a swollen little thing stuffed in a ridiculously tiny sailor suit, sat unimpressed in her lap. His dark curls contrasted against the white of her dressing gown as he leaned his tiny head against her chest, knocking his hat off for the umpteenth time. Tony was surprisingly quiet, cooing around his finger, his uncoordinated movements betraying his plan to capture his mother's dangling earrings and pull them out. 

Maria gently batted his hand away, adjusting the phone in her grasp before cutting off the interior designer with a string of Italian profanity. She wrapped an arm around Tony, standing quickly and letting the robe fall as it may as she crossed the floor. Handing the tiny Stark to Steve, she smiled warmly. "Just for a sec," Maria assured as she pressed the phone to her chest, "I need to deal with this." 

Steve barely had time to arrange his arms to properly accept the baby before Maria swept away. 

Sighing, Steve let Tony shift restlessly in his arms as he placed his mug onto the counter, "what's wrong? Miss your mommy already?" the blond asked, resting Tony against his shoulder and rubbing his back. Tony fretted quietly, not quite sure if he wanted to squirm closer or away. " _Shh_ , I've got you. Uncle Steve's here," he murmured gently, rhythmically patting the brunet's back until Tony finally settled. Steve was busy pacing when he looked up to find Peggy smiling at him. 

"How  _gorgeous_ ," she complimented, "I always wonder why you just won't have any of your own. You're so good with him," Peggy said with a smile, approaching the both them to rub Tony's cheek with her knuckles. 

Steve laughed heartily, the sound reverberating in his chest and making Tony squirm anew. "I only get him at his best," he replied, letting Tony nuzzle his neck in a move that was either to comfort himself or to goad Steve back into rubbing his back. "If he were screaming at the top of his lungs, I don't know what I would do," the blond answered honestly.

"None of us do, really. There is no true _guide_ for parenthood." Peggy smiled warmly, taking Tony's hand and wrenching it out of his mouth. "We do the best we can with what we've got," she said as a matter of fact. It was strange how at that moment, she looked partly like some wise deity from tales of old and like someone who had heard the funniest joke ever. 

Tony's tiny fist latched onto Steve's shirt, wrinkling the fabric and leaving it damp with spittle. He babbled then, looking unwaveringly at Peggy, as though she was the only thing that existed. Steve could see it in her eyes how much she adored Tony. "How could you not fall in love with such a precious little face?" She crooned.

* * *

There were fireworks. Literally and figuratively speaking. The technicians set off a beautiful display. And... Howard and Maria had a meltdown when he arrived late to the barbecue and left entirely too early, claiming that he was drowning in work. 

Steve excused himself at the point that Maria started crying and throwing whatever she can get her hands on at Howard. He ducked into the kitchen and then past the help scarfing down anything they could get away with. Some way or another he ended up in the living room, splayed across the couch reading one of the books that arbitrarily lined the shelves. 

It's three in the morning when the nanny comes downstairs with Tony in tow as he cries and whines. She looks tired as all hell, but Tony doesn't care if she was patting his back or begging him to calm down, he wails insatiably. Steve sits up, letting the book drop onto his stomach as he monitors the old woman slowly wilting under the increasing fatigue.  _You're his Godfather, go do something..._  Steve thought, resigning himself to his fate as he discards the novel and relieves the nanny of her duties. "Its fine, I've got him," he assures, taking the howling baby into his arms like he was handling highly explosive materials. She thanks him and she's gone in a flash. 

Steve sighs and Tony barely even _hiccups_ between his sobs. He can recognize the baby's cries at this point, he's spent enough time with him; Tony's not crying for any other reason than the fact that _babies cry_. Resolved to let Tony cry himself out, the blond returns to the couch and his book and lays Tony across the broad expanse of his abdomen. The turning of the pages go from being drowned out by Tony's whining to being **deafening**. Steve is almost afraid to look down and see why that is, but he does so regardless and finds Tony staring with big glassy eyes at the columns of text. Tony looks like... interested?

Steve smiles at him, relieved that the crying is done for now. Taking a deep breath, he flips the pages all the way back to the beginning, "Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck…” he pauses, adding, “Peggy, _your godmother_ , her husband is named J—" Babbling interrupts Steve’s footnotes, Tony whining for him to get on with reading.

* * *

Steve awakens to see the last of them go off through the window, dizzy as the last remnants of sleep fall away. As the fireworks crackle just beyond the window, he wonders how Tony managed to stay asleep so long. Looking at the baby curled up against him, little face tucked into Steve's shirt and hands making little fists, Steve feels something in his chest flutter. With Tony's tiny breaths against his skin and the steady warmth permeating from him, the flutter becomes a full-blown ache. 

Steve shifts to move Tony into his arms, making the tiny brunet whimper at the disturbance. He doesn't awaken, however, which gives Steve the confidence to sit up. He props himself up against the back of the couch, movements careful and calculated. This angle gives him a far better view of the light show outside, the endless black of the sky illuminated by the colors of the nation. Tony snuggles in deeper and Steve looks down to see big brown eyes blinking slowly open at him. 

Initially, Steve is alarmed that he woke him despite his efforts not to, but Tony makes this impatient sound and eventually the blond realizes that the baby is trying to get him to lie back down. It's no use to put him to bed, Steve thinks, rolling over and letting Tony rest on the cushion beside him. The baby immediately frets at the loss of Steve's warmth, but the blond pulls Tony close and lays a gentle kiss on his head to quiet him. 

Watching Tony drift back to sleep and listening to the last bangs of the fireworks, Steve can't help but wonder...


End file.
